Give and Take
by Illumenara
Summary: WinterWidow One-shot #3. After the fall of Hydra, Natasha thinks about her next steps, but realizes that her Soldat needs her. Natasha comforts the Soldat and gives him the chance he needs to find Bucky within him. Parts 1 2 Posted :)
1. Part 1

**Give and Take**

 _Musical Inspo : "I Found" by Amber Run (I used this for the last half of Part 1 and first half of Part 2)_

 _Disclaimer : I don't own Marvel blah blah._

 **Part 1**

He's going to be okay, she told herself. Natasha ran her fingers through her hair, feeling the light build-up of grease from not showering since the day before yesterday. She was wearing street clothes - her jumpsuit was in the locker at the now-defunct SHIELD headquarters. As she had uploaded the HYDRA files she knew that it would be time to put the suit away for a while, to build up a few new covers. But all of that had fled her mind when she'd gotten the call that Steve had been found bleeding out on the bank of the Potomac River.

She had sat in the waiting room with Fury and Sam for eight straight hours while surgeons carefully operated on Captain America, removing bullets and repairing internal organs before they could heal incorrectly. Beneficial in most cases, the superhuman strength and healing from his serum had proven a bit problematic in saving his stubborn life. The surgery had been successful, but Natasha had still waited by his bedside for him to wake up for nearly twenty further hours, until Sam Wilson had become fed up with what he called her "serial killer stance". She could be very still for long periods of time when she set her mind to it. It was part of her training, something that had never left. She could wait for as long as it was necessary. She was forced to agree with Sam Wilson when he had pointed out that Steve would be less than thrilled to see her when he got a whiff of her after he woke up. Natasha was annoyed by the sarcastic remark, but it was also ingrained into her to keep herself in peak physical shape and appearance, and she reluctantly let that trained vanity pull her from Steve's bedside.

She shoved her hands into the pockets of her hoodie, barely wincing at the dull throbbing of her healing shoulder, and walked through the hospital hallway toward the exit. The bullet from her Soldat had passed clean through her shoulder and was already healing quicker than doctors thought possible. But her Corvette was buried under the rubble of the Triskelion, so she would have to walk home. Trained or not, her body ached at the thought - it had been nearly two whole days since she had slept, and over four days since she had slept _well_. It was this that she blamed when her step faltered upon hearing two doctors speaking loosely as she passed.

"Whoever called 911 said that someone in black pulled the Captain from the river, but then just walked away!"

Natasha's eyes widened, but she held her composure after the faltered step and continued walking. Someone in black. She could only theorize, but after what Steve had told her about the Winter Soldier, she felt completely sure that he must have gotten through to the Bucky buried deep inside her Soldat's mind. It had to have been him.

When Steve had described his best friend, the Bucky Barnes that had fallen to his death during World War II, and later shown her the pictures, she had felt something that had surprised her. Jealousy. She wanted to hate the Soldat, but he was only hers to hate. She was still struggling with the idea that Steve and Bucky, her Soldat, had a history together, a friendship that now seemed to transcend time and some of the darkest evils imaginable. He was her past, her dark side, her weakness. She knew that she shared that weakness with Steve, but not in the same sense. The Soldat made her forget everything when she should not, abandon her own sense of security in order to feel alive for a few stolen minutes. The Soldat had been her release, her guilty pleasure, her personal darkness...yet sometimes the only light in the darkness of her memories. She had watched as Steve had struggled with the knowledge that his best friend was still alive, now apparently in the grips of the evil organization that he had fought against for so long. What would Steve do when he woke to find that Bucky was still gone?

Natasha knew, having heard about Steve's rescue from the river, that Bucky might actually still be there...maybe he wasn't completely gone. Who was it that she had loved and hated all of these years? Was it her Soldat or was it the Bucky within him? She wasn't sure which one she wanted to be the answer to that question. Her Soldat was just that...hers, yet he was the one programmed to kill, and Bucky was the soldier who fought for good in the war. She found herself wishing they could be separate, that Steve could have his friend Bucky and that she could selfishly keep her Soldat, her secret, her sometimes-lover.

Could they be both? She worried that neither she or Steve would ever find the answer, and that it would torment Steve, or both of them, until the end of time.

The walk to her apartment passed quickly as the thoughts flew through her mind, trying to reconcile her desires with what was best for Steve. With one more block to go, she reached into the thigh pocket of her leggings to retrieve the small key to unlock her apartment door. The sun was getting low against the skyline of Washington D.C., the end of another hellish day that she hoped marked the beginning of a time to rest. She had come too close to dying too many times in the last four days and was desperate for a luxurious weekend of spa treatments-all pending Steve's release from the hospital, of course. In the alley between buildings, a dark shape caught her eye.

Never one to be startled, Natasha focused on her peripheral vision and the shape took focus. Dark, stringy hair framed a stubbled face, a long sleeved black shirt covered broad shoulders, and pants with many pockets covered the long legs of a man that she knew all too well. Soldat.

She whipped her head toward him and angled her body so that she was positioned defensively. It was only three nights earlier that she had bedded him in her apartment only to find that he had nearly been successful in a mission to kill Nick Fury, her mentor and friend. Then he had shot her during the fight under the causeway. She had every right to be royally pissed at him, yet seeing him standing in the alley next to her apartment building only served to bring up feelings of empathy for him. She now knew who he was before she had met him. She knew what he had lost.

Natasha also knew that she was alive because of him, if only in a roundabout way. If he had wanted to kill her, she would be dead. The only reason why she was alive was because he had deliberately missed shooting her through the heart as she ran from him that day. She had turned to see him up on the car, aiming his gun at her, but she knew it was a farce. She had seen the warning in his eye - he would not kill her. The shot had been a message to disengage, to get away from him so that they could not force him to hurt her further.

Her arm was at the ready, waiting for a sudden movement from which she needed to defend herself. He might have pulled Steve from the river, but which person stood before her now? Was it the passionate Soldat that had been her mentor and lover, or was it the brainwashed killing machine that HYDRA intended him to be all along? She took in his appearance, from the days-worn look of his clothes, including the lack of his military vest, to the way he held his right arm against his side and the pleading look he was giving her. He looked so much like himself, yet was completely unfamiliar to her in so many ways. This was not her Soldat, despite him coming to her apartment, despite the glint of metal she could see from the hand he had shoved in the pocket of his cargos. Standing before her was Bucky.

She narrowed her eyes at him. His gaze widened, and one eyebrow raised, begging the silent request. She nodded, flicking her eyes toward the building before turning on her heel to make the final steps to the building's front door. She did not look over her shoulder as he followed her inside, did not say a word as they climbed the steps. She did not pause to wait for him as she unlocked the door and walked into her apartment. He slipped in behind her, pressing his back against the wall by her front door as it clicked shut. Natasha placed her keys in a dish and took a deep breath, facing away from him. Neither of them moved for many moments.

Finally she heard his voice, quiet and unsure, but still the rich and husky melody that she often recalled in her dreams. "I didn't know where else to go," he muttered. She still did not move. Another moment passed. She felt the air move behind her as he stepped away from the wall to approach her. Anger, pain, fear, and heartache welled up within her and she turned toward him, her hand flying to meet with his face in an audible, stinging slap.

His head whipped to the side from the impact, but he did not tense or make any move to fend her off. Bucky or the Soldat, she still had two bullet holes in her body from him. This man had nearly killed Steve, Fury, and had coldly murdered countless others. Yet as she raised her hand to strike him again she froze, seeing something that she had never before seen flicker across his pale face. He winced, be it from pain or fear of her striking him, and that was not something that she knew the Winter Soldier could ever do. She lowered her hand gently, bringing it to rest against his untouched cheek as she pulled his face back for her to see him better. His eyes were pointed at the ground.

"Stay here," she whispered. The Soldat, Bucky, looked up to her face and the look within his stare was more disturbing than anything she had seen. Behind his ice blue eyes was an ocean of guilt, torment, fear, and sadness. Her heart clenched within her body-she did not know what to do in that moment. He gave a small dip of his chin and she pulled him in close to her body, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and placing a hand on the back of his neck. She felt him give way and encircle her waist with his metal arm as his face buried into her neck.

He winced when she put a slight touch of pressure on his right shoulder, and Natasha let go of him to prod the area with her fingers. He had been holding it against his body, and she could see the evident pain etched into the crinkle of his brow as she checked him. "I think it's dislocated." Her voice was soft, a deep-throated whisper. Head still down, he looked up at her under guarded brows and pursed his lips before giving her a nod. She moved against him, pushing his body down into one of the dining chairs. "Hold on to me," she uttered, but he merely shook his head and braced his metal palm against the brick wall of her dining room. Natasha extended his injured arm, noting the way that his shoulders rippled as he prepared himself for the oncoming pain.

"How did you and Steve end up in the river?" she asked as she angled his wrist and elbow. He had barely opened his mouth to speak when she twisted and pushed, feeling and hearing the pop as his shoulder socket locked back into place. The squeezing of his eyes and the lip tucked between his teeth was the only indication that he had felt the pain of the maneuver, and she let go of him, allowing him a moment to process the sensation and thoughts accompanying it. She leaned against the wall of her kitchen and watched as he lifted his hand and clenched then unclenched a fist several times to get the blood flowing through his arm.

"Thank you," he said gruffly. The tiniest smile pulled at a corner of her lips. She wondered when the last time he had said those two words together might have been, knowing that he had not only been under control but had likely not had anything good enough to thank anyone for in many years, except perhaps those stolen nights they'd shared so long ago in the Red Room.

"Come," she offered, reaching forward to take his good hand. He allowed her to pull him from the chair and be led to her bedroom, where she reached out to lay her hands on his broad chest. She waited for his approval, not wanting to break the spell of Bucky's return to his mind, not wanting to bring Hydra back into his mentality. He did not say a word to stop her, and she trailed her fingers to the hem of his shirt, lifting it gently and helping him to take it off over the relocated shoulder. Her eyes lingered on the scars where the metal connected to him, remembering how once, when they lay together in her dormitory, she had traced them as he slept in her bed, matching the width of parallel scars to the distance between fingers. Natasha had known then that he had not been a willing participant of Hydra's experiments, but had been so fully invested in her own training program that she had never thought about his past or his pain further than that. She could never have imagined that he was an American POW, or that he had fought side-by-side with Captain America. Now that she knew the truth, or some extent of it, she felt guilty.

Perhaps helping him now, tonight, would help assuage some of that guilt. She hoped it would, but it was not the only reason that she was brushing his hair out of his eyes as she cleaned off his face with a wetted towel from her bathroom. She cared for this man, her Soldat, Bucky, and she would never be free of her feelings for him as long as one of them existed in this world, no matter what form they took. She had taken a quick shower and had come out to find him seated at the edge of her bed, watching the skyline as the sun set and lights flickered on across the city. He let her clean his face and then remove his boots. She gently pushed him back until he was laying with his head on a pillow, his body outstretched and his feet near the edge. She slipped on a nightgown and crawled onto the mattress next to him. Natasha watched his profile as he stared at the ceiling for a few moments, before he took a shaky breath and turned toward her, resting his weight on his metal arm. Her fingertips rested on top of her blankets, and he reached forward slowly and wrapped them in his warm hand, hiding a small wince at the movement in his shoulder. Natasha leaned her head forward and pressed her lips to his knuckles in a gentle kiss, then rested her cheek against the back of his hand as she scooted her body closer to him. She felt him lean in toward her, his nose against the top of her head as he inhaled deeply, breathing in the smell of her freshly-washed hair.

"Thank you," he whispered into her hair. She felt his chin quiver and she gripped his hand tighter, letting him know that she was here for him. He didn't make a sound, but she felt the uneven breaths as his chest rose and fell. Minutes passed, and soon his breathing grew deeper and his grip loosened. She laced her fingers through his and gently kissed his fingertips before she finally fell asleep too, peacefully tucked against her Soldat for the first time in decades.

~xXx~

 _A/N: So...This is the THIRD installment in my One-Shot series for WinterWidow. I am considering bunching them all together, not as a full-fledged fanfic (still one-shots) but it would keep them all together for those who might just want to jump in. What do you guys think?_

 _Reviews are appreciated! :)_


	2. Part 2

**Give and Take**

Musical Inspo: "I Found" by Amber Run (the song has a lot of tenderness, but conveys past regret and sadness too. I definitely recommend listening to it on a loop while you read this!)

Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel blah blah.

 **Part 2**

She could still see the darkness of the city through the thin slats of her blinds when she woke. She had only slept for a few hours, but the hand laced with her own had woken her. His fingers had tightened and pulled her arm in closer to his body. She lifted her head to look at him. Her Soldat. He was here. In her bed. They hadn't tried to kill each other before getting here. They hadn't exhausted each other through pain and pleasure first. He had come to her seeking help and she had given it.

Natasha knew that her apartment was the last place for him to be. Hydra was gone, and he would become a wanted man. She knew some of his track record, and suspected that it was worse than what she knew. Just how many assassinations and untimely deaths of the last 70 years could be attributed to him? She was sure that it was more than the two dozen she could easily count off in her head, but she was also sure that she didn't want to know. The information was easily accessible-the thousands upon thousands of Hydra files she had unlocked and dumped onto the internet likely held those answers, and despite her reluctance to know of the Winter Soldier's dirty background there were many others who were about to find out how deep the destruction of Hydra had gone. Her Soldat was going to become a very public target very soon.

She watched as his eyes moved behind tightly closed lids, wondering what dreams or nightmares he was seeing in his sleeping mind. She pulled her arm closer to her, bringing the warmth of his hand next to her breast. Feeling him so close to her was an extraordinary kind of comfort that she had not known that she wanted. Though they had shared the pleasure of each other's bodies twice in the decades since she had graduated from the Red Room, this was the most intimate time she had spent with him since the days when he had trained her as a young assassin. He had been her light in the dark, the pleasure to every ounce of pain, the secret she held within her heart.

Her eyes travelled to his full lips. She sucked in a quick breath as her mind recalled moments when his lips were pressed against her temple as he held her in a chokehold, whispering treatises and lover's promises even as they trained in full sight of the Madame. She smiled as she remembered how she had been able to disarm him during a sparring session the morning after he had stayed the night in her room. She had discovered a new technique to use with her mouth on him that had him digging his fingers into her hair and begging to let him enter her, but she had refused until he had found his release in her mouth. She grinned wickedly at the memory, a small laugh escaping her lips. She pressed her mouth closed when he stirred at the sound, scrunching his nose at a hair that had fallen in his face. Natasha brushed the loose lock from his face and let her hand rest gently against his jawline.

He had seen so much. She knew now that he was more than the Soldat. She might not understand it, and she might wish that it wasn't so, but her Soldat was the shell around a man buried deep inside-a man that had his future stolen from him. She wanted so desperately to know if she had loved the man within, a man desperate to escape the confines of a wiped memory, or if she had loved the shell-the harsh outer layer built to imprison the good man within for the sake of Hydra's physical and political experiments. If the latter, what did that say about her? She nursed her lip, pressing her teeth into the plump flesh as she mulled over her thoughts.

"Stop," a voice muttered. Natasha's eyes shot up to find that her Soldat was awake. He had his eyes focused on hers, but his gaze flickered to her worried lip. His voice was husky with both sleep and desire, and she found that she was blushing under his sudden watch, feeling grateful for the cover of darkness. The shadows of the night covered all but the constant brightness of his blue eyes. She searched them for answers to her many unasked questions. What had happened? Why had it happened? Where had he come from? Did he remember their past? Why had he come to seek her out?

"Who is here, right now?" The question slipped past her defenses. As he inhaled sharply, she wanted to wish that she could take it back, but she knew, as did he, that it needed answering above all else. He did not answer her, and she pulled her hand from his. His open palm lay face up, suddenly empty of her warmth. She did not wait for him to answer. "Are you...my Soldat? Or...are you the other one. Bucky?" He flinched at the name, but did not shrink from her despite the lowering of his eyes.

"I don't know who I am anymore," he answered, keeping his gaze on the contours of her duvet. "Whoever I am, though, I think I am yours." She felt her breath hitch in her throat-she knew then that he did remember her. Maybe not all, but enough. She slid back down and stretched her body beside him, placing her hand against his open palm again. Leaning into him, she placed a light, yet lingering, kiss against his jawline. He leaned into her and their lips met. It was a gentle kiss, something unfamiliar to Natasha. She felt the warmth of the kiss seep down her neck and across her chest. When he took his flesh arm and pulled her in closer to him and then placed that hand lightly on her ribs, just under her breast, a shiver tingled up the length of her spine, spreading around her hairline and scalp. Their lips moved, languidly parting to allow their tongues to meet. Natasha moaned lightly into his mouth. Her Soldat moved his hand lower and hooked her leg over his hip, pressing his thigh between her legs as he moved to partially hover above her body.

"Let me show you who you were at one time," she huskily whispered against his mouth. With a hand on the back of his neck, she pulled him down to her. His weight pressed against her body as her fingers curled into his unruly locks. He wound his metal fingers through her own hair as his lips met with hers, a slow-paced kiss that explored and encouraged. The hand on her waistline twitched, she could feel the hesitation-she nodded against him, whispering between kisses, "It's okay." Slowly, his hand blazed a burning trail from her ribs to her hip and down further along her thigh as he rediscovered the shape of her body. His touch was delicate and deliberate, rekindling physical memories in both of their minds.

Their kissing grew deeper, their breathing heavier. Natasha placed her hand on his naked chest and pushed against him, turning him onto his back. She rolled onto him, one leg on each side of him. Her Soldat looked up at her, his eyes heavy and dark with raging emotion and desire. She leaned down to kiss him again as he placed his hands on her hips, pulling her body against him as he hardened beneath her.

Her Soldat was ready to take her -she could feel him against her- but he had reached down to touch her first. She had not put anything on underneath her nightgown, and he easily slipped a warm hand between her legs and ran his fingers through her folds, spreading the delicate moisture around, remembering the subtle variances of their bodies from the past. She cried out against his cheek when his fingers found the pleasurable nub and began to rub against it, tightening her core and causing her breath to catch. He wrapped his metal arm around her, holding her close to him while his fingers moved, dancing over her skin and bringing her to a peak of pleasure.

"I see you haven't forgotten that," she breathed. He smiled, feeling the rise and fall of her body as she lay atop him recovering from her orgasm. He wound fingers into her hair and pulled her face back up to his. "Please," he begged against her mouth. "I need to feel you." Natasha smiled into the kiss as she lifted her hips to answer him. He reached under her to unzip his pants and extracted his member. She felt the hard velvet length rub against her and hummed in anticipation. She pulled back from kissing him and brought his hand to her mouth to lubricate him with her saliva, her eyes dancing mischievously as he watched her run her tongue along his fingers before pushing his hand down between them. He ran his moistened hand along his length and placed the tip at her wet entrance.

Natasha braced herself above him, looking deeply into his eyes.

They both took a deep breath as she lowered herself onto him, feeling him slowly, languidly, and deliciously stretch her. Neither looked away as he buried himself-his pain, his desire, his past-in her. In their other lives they had been bound together by experience, by torment, by secrets, and by passion. Never before had they been connected as they were in this moment. It was tender. She was soft in his arms and he held her gently as he began to move in and out of her. His soft moans of pleasure as he moved inside her mixed with her own. His hand was on her hip, rolling her in time with his slow thrusts. She could feel every inch of him as he moved. She lost herself in the feel of him within her, cherishing every feeling as he dove deeper and deeper inside, stretching her and opening her to something that she had never felt before. Ecstasy in its purest form.

Her Soldat. Her Soldat was here, within her, without pain, fully sheathed and completely with her. This was how it was always supposed to be with them.

He bucked beneath her, driving himself into her slightly harder than before. She groaned in delight, and he moved to flip her underneath him, positioning his body above hers but never disconnecting from her. He lowered his lips to her neck as he pushed into her, increasing the pace of his thrusts. She wrapped her arm around his back and gripped his ass as he enveloped her body with his own. One of her legs wrapped around his waist and the other tightened around the back of his thigh, holding him close to her as he drove deeply into her core. The friction of his body against her brought her to orgasm again, and he buried his face into her neck as he pumped his seed into her, muffling his growl as he came.

They were motionless for a moment, both soaking in the feel of their bodies, desperate to make it last forever and loathe to move away. But Natasha moved first, angling her head to lay a gentle kiss at the nape of his neck and running her fingers along his back, drawing patterns against the chilled sweat along his muscles. He shivered under her touch and lifted his head just enough to meet her lips in a soft kiss.

"Thank you," he said to her with a shy smile. He slowly leaned back, pulling himself out of her. She constricted around him as the movement created friction deep within her, but she did not move to dance with him again. He took a deep, shaky breath and lay down next to her, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her back against him. "Sleep with me, Natasha," he whispered into her hair. She reached behind and placed a hand on his cheek before settling against him. She fell asleep to the gentle tickle of his breath at the base of her neck.

When the sun rose hours later Natasha woke to light kisses along her shoulder. She pushed her backside against him and was met with a very willing Soldat, who guided himself into her wetness. They lazily moved against each other, Natasha gripped the pillow as he rubbed her clit while he moved from behind. Her legs trembled when she came, clenching around him and bringing him to orgasm. He gripped her tightly as he emptied himself within her, breathing heavily against the soft skin between her shoulders.

It was torturous to pull herself away from him, but the morning light had brought a fresh wave of thoughts to her mind. He could not stay here. She wanted him to stay. She wanted to explore the new, gentler side of her Soldat. But he was a wanted man. He was a target. And she had put the spotlight on herself by infiltrating and exposing Hydra's files. Being with her would only put him in further danger.

She disappeared down the hall for a few minutes and came back with a set of clothes for her Soldat. Jeans, shirt, jacket. She had swiped them from the laundry room on her floor. He couldn't wear the tactical gear anywhere in D.C. As he came out of the bathroom, freshly washed from a shower, she looked at him from under lowered lashes and held out the clothing to him. He wordlessly took them from her. After he pulled the jeans on she held out the shirt, offering assistance for the shoulder that likely had healed overnight but needing to touch him again, to convince herself that he was real, that they had lain together, that she felt for him beyond what she thought possible.

He sat between her legs, facing the wall as she brushed the tangles from his hair. Neither said a word, both knowing that it was coming to an end. Natasha set the brush down when she finished and leaned against him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders from behind. He placed his hand on her arm and pressed his head against hers.

As they approached her apartment door, Natasha reached down and picked up a backpack. While he had showered she had packed a few thousand dollars in cash, a few notes on travelling without documentation, some addresses of safehouses she had secured over the years, some food and water. She handed it to him. A thought came to her and she turned to reach the top of her refrigerator. She pulled down an empty notebook and held it out for him, an offering for him to write down his memories as they came back, to get them out of his head and on paper. He gripped it tightly in his hand, giving her a thankful smile as he then tucked it into the backpack. A glance over her shoulder made his brow furrow, and she turned to see what he had seen. It was a picture of Steve -she had snapped a candid shot of him laughing at something, a rare moment. She could see the longing in the eyes of her Soldat, and she knew that she could not claim him as fully hers so long as the two best friends had yet to revitalize a friendship.

Sighing, she told him, "I know where you can find Bucky." He looked down at her as she told him of the Captain America exhibit. He couldn't remember on his own, not yet, but the exhibit would be his best bet to starting on the path to remember who he was. Natasha hoped that he would find himself. It was too painful to be lost. But she also hoped that she would still have a place in his mind when he remembered, that he wouldn't want to forget all of his time as the Winter Soldier, including his time as her Soldat. _Please don't forget me_ , she thought. He might be a piece of her personal darkness, but he was the only light in that dark time of her life, and she worried that she was about to lose him forever. Still, he had to go. He had to stay safe, and he had to find himself.

The Soldat, Bucky, her lover...he moved to encircle her in a warm embrace. His hand was on the back of her head, his fingers winding into her hair and his lips pressed into her hair. She felt him inhale, breathing in her scent. She buried her face into his chest and breathed him in, forcing herself to remember this moment. When they parted, she reached up and placed a baseball cap over his hair before standing on tiptoes to kiss his lips. Her eyes closed as he leaned into her kiss.

"Stay safe, Soldat," she whispered. He slung the backpack over his shoulder and looked back at her as he walked down the hallway. She saw the deep emotions that crossed his eyes. Passion, fear, sadness. Love. Natasha swallowed her emotional pain as she watched him disappear around the corner. She closed her apartment door and slid down to the floor, breathing deeply to keep the tears from forming. She wanted him to be safe. She wanted him to be made whole again. She wanted him to be free. She never realized that she might never be free of him, though, not until he had held her so gently as their bodies joined last night.

Natasha shook her head. She had to go to work. Her Soldat was free. Now it was up to her to do everything she could to make sure he was able to stay free, to minimize any trail that could lead them to him. He was valuable, and she would not let them take him again. She might never see him after today, but it was the least she could do for him, for her lover, for her Soldat.

~xXx~

 _A/N: So what did you think? Should I combine all of the one-shots into a single FF? Reviews are appreciated! Thank you :)_


End file.
